He lunged at Goran. It was a blur of motion—a feint to the left, a hook to the ribs.
Goran remained planted like a statue. He caught Dane’s fist in one massive palm, the impact sounding like a hammer hitting an anvil. He twisted, throwing Dane onto the mat with a grunt.
“You are fighting like a brawler,” Goran said, his voice bored. “You are thinking about where to hit, just as you are overthinking the fabric. A Vor-Kahn does not think. He knows.”
“Easy for you to say,” Dane panted, wiping blood from his split lip. “You’re the size of a tank.”
“Size is irrelevant. Intent is everything. Master that, and you will keep your bones whole and your trousers on.”
I looked to my left. Riven was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the sparring with critical detachment. He caught my eye. A silent question. Ready?
I nodded and stood up. “My turn.”
Riven pushed off the pillar, leaving the others to their rhythm. He signalled for me to join him in the empty ring at the far end of the training room, putting ample distance between our practice and the heavy impact of Goran’s fists.
“The problem,” Riven said, turning to face me, “is thatyour power is tied to your survival instinct. You reach for it when you are afraid. But if you go to the roof of Highspire enraged, you will burn out before you reach the device. You need to be able to turn it on like a switch. Cold. Controlled.”
“Defend yourself,” he commanded.
I held my ground. I called on the Light to protect, willing it into a barrier. A delicate shimmer of gold manifested around me, hovering an inch from my skin. It vibrated with a steady resonance.
Riven walked a circle around me, inspecting the barrier. “Stable,” he noted, his voice low. “It took me six months to master a static ward of this density without it shattering. You have done it in three days.”
I watched the dark ink of his own magic waiting at his fingertips. The speed of my mastery felt like more than adrenaline. It was the integration. Alone, my Light was a chaotic flood, but near him, the energy found its edges. His Shadow acted as a natural counterweight, stabilising the output before I even formed the thought. We were a closed loop. His control bled into my chaos, teaching the power how to behave simply by being close enough to touch it.
He raised a hand. Shadows bled from his skin, coiling into a dense, inky mass that swallowed the amber light of the room. It solidified into a jagged, opaque shield in front of him.
“Hit me,” he ordered. “Hard.”
I took a breath. I thought about the sheer, impossible weight of the energy living in my blood. I thrust my hand forward.
I released a stream. A beam of pure, concentrated gold erupted from my palm. It collided into Riven’s shadow shield with the force of a physical blow.
Riven grunted, his boots sliding backward an inch on the stone floor. The impact roared, a sound like a jet engine in the enclosed space. Light flooded the atrium, washing out the amber lanterns.
“Hold it!” he shouted over the roar. “Sustain it!”
My arm shook. The power wanted to burst wide, to explode like it had in the alley when Dane and I were attacked by the augmented Umbrakynn, but I forced it narrow. I forced it straight.
For ten seconds, the connection held—my Light pouring into his Shadow, the two forces meeting in a brutal, blinding equilibrium.
Then, my knees buckled. The beam cut out.
I stumbled forward, gasping for air. Riven dropped the shield and closed the distance between us before I could hit the stone. His hands caught my waist, his grip firm and burning with residual heat.
I looked up at him, my chest heaving against his. He looked… satisfied. Small swirls of his shadows were seeping gently through my clothes, a dark mist that felt like a cool caress against my skin, and his breathing was just as ragged as mine.
“Better,” he said, his voice dropping a rough octave as his thumbs brushed my hips. “You held a continuous output for twelve seconds. That is enough to overload the Extractor.”
“I need to do it longer,” I muttered, stepping back. The withdrawal was abrupt; as his shadows detached, they left me feeling unnervingly hollow.
“You won’t need longer,” Riven stated, his hands lingering for a heartbeat too long before he forced them to his sides. His voice was still a rough edge of itself. “Once the reaction starts, it sustains itself.”
“You two are terrifying,” Dane said, forcing a crooked grin. But the attempt at humour fell flat, weighed down by the cold assessment in his eyes. “You caught that like it was nothing.”
“It is discipline,” Riven said, standing his ground. “I have spent decades hardening my defences. She is raw power striking a seasoned wall.”
“Right. Discipline.” Dane watched him, his amber eyes narrowing. The exhaustion on his face hardened into a predatory focus. “My turn. No shadows. No magic. I need to know if you can hold your own when the wards strip us bare.”
